I see your scars.
I imagine them, similar to mine.
You have been pushed and pulled,
molded to form by your years on this earth.
Firmly rooted, grounded,
that is your strength.
The will to stay. Stay.

I touch beneath your scars.
So smooth, cold and firm.
The outer layer shedding to reveal
a new, yet the always, you.
The opportunity to
create anew.
The lure to stay. Stay.

New growth
is the promise
that comes with life.
What direction it results,
shaped by circumstance
The fear to stay. Stay.

Your immense strength,
yet willingness to bend,
reassures me.
I hear you whisper
each time I walk by,
or is it me?
“Be grounded. Stay. Stay”.


Waxman Parade Brunswick West

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